


One Hundred Ways to Say "I Love You"

by the_sky_is_forever



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: (I'm talking off screen minor character death), Falling In Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 22:24:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4852784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_sky_is_forever/pseuds/the_sky_is_forever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Grantaire and Enjolras take a very long time to actually say those three special words, but if you pay attention, the words are there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Hundred Ways to Say "I Love You"

**Author's Note:**

> I've got a raging headache right now, so my proof-reading may not be at it's best - if you notice anything major, let me know (actually even minor things can pointed out).  
> This fic is based off a post I saw on tumblr that listed various ways to say "I Love You". I've edited a few of the ways and replaced others. I hope you like it :)

“Pull over. Let me drive for a while,” Enjolras says, quietly. It’s dark on the country road, the tarmac lit only by the headlights on Grantaire’s Ford Fiesta. Grantaire just yawned for the third time in five minutes. In the backseat of the car, Jehan and Courfeyrac and Combeferre sleep peacefully.

Grantaire glances at Enjolras in the passenger seat. He looks a little concerned and not at all tired. “Okay,” Grantaire says. He pulls into the next layby and opens his car door. The cold night air hits him, and he quickly shuts the door behind him so that it doesn’t wake his friends.

As he walks around the front of the car, Enjolras gets out of the passenger seat. They pass each other in the light from the headlights, and Enjolras throws him a slight smile.

When they’re both settled into their new seats in the old, battered car, Grantaire asks, over the thrum of the engine, “How come you aren’t tired?”

Enjolras shrugs. “I’m always tired,” he says. “I’m just used to it.”

Grantaire looks in the rear-view mirror to where Courfeyrac has his head resting on Jehan’s shoulder. “That can’t be healthy,” he tells Enjolras.

Enjolras shrugs again. “It’s not so bad.” His eyes are fixed on the road. “Get some sleep. I’ll wake you up when we get to mine.”

Grantaire leans back against his seat properly, letting his head fall against the headrest. He can only just make out Enjolras’ features in the darkness, and yet he can’t look away.

Enjolras has been away for a while, out of the country volunteering with a charity. When Enjolras told everyone, there had been a mixture of emotions with the reaction that everyone gave. On one hand, they were happy for him, and proud, too. But on the other hand, he’d be gone for months, and no one wanted that. Least of all Grantaire.

When they got the date he was coming home, Grantaire had jumped at the chance, saying, “I’ll pick you up at the airport.” Then everyone had wanted to come. In the end, only Jehan, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre could actually come, given the lateness of Enjolras' plane’s arrival, but it was nice all the same. So now Grantaire sits in his car as Enjolras drives himself home from the airport.

He doesn’t manage to sleep, but he doesn’t mind so much; when Enjolras pulls up to the apartment he shares when Combeferre and Courfeyrac, Grantaire still feels rested, and he doesn’t mind that he has to drive the rest of the way home. He feels taken care of too, and that especially is unusual.

+

Grantaire is late.

It’s a regular occurrence, to the extent that no one really expects him until at least fifteen minutes into meetings. Even so, Enjolras never can shake the feeling he gets when Grantaire is late: the feeling that maybe this time something’s wrong. Maybe this time it’s not that Grantaire lost track of time. Maybe this time it’s not because it took longer to close down at his work than usual.

Maybe this time it’s because Grantaire’s in trouble.

He’s not – this becomes evident when he comes strolling into the meeting, twenty-three minutes late – and the rush of relief that Enjolras feels is palpable. Grantaire shoots him an apologetic look, and mutters a quick “sorry”, before taking his seat in between Joly and Bossuet.

At the end of the meeting, Enjolras approaches him. Grantaire immediately starts to apologise.

“I know, I know,” he says, hurriedly. “I was late. I really did try to get here on time-”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras interrupts, trying not to smile. “It’s okay. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

“Oh,” Grantaire says.

“So?” Enjolras asks. He takes a seat at the table that Grantaire’s sitting at. Joly and Bossuet get up and leave. “Is everything alright?”

“Of course,” Grantaire says, quickly.

“Are you sure?” Enjolras asks him.

Grantaire gives him an odd look. “I’m sure,” he says. He doesn’t look alright, though, and Enjolras desperately wants to know what the problem is. If he can help in any way. Grantaire clearly can sense that Enjolras wants a real answer, and he sighs. “Look, today was a bad day at work, and then traffic was awful, and things just… haven’t been going my way. I promise everything’s fine.”

Enjolras searches Grantaire’s face for any indication that he’s not being truthful. “Alright,” he says, at last. He smiles at Grantaire. “What was so bad about work?” he asks.

Grantaire’s returning smile is hesitant, and seems to be a little confused, too. There’s a light in his eyes that suggests he thinks Enjolras is being weird. “You’re really asking?”

Enjolras blinks at him. “Yes?” he says, and it comes out sounding like a question.

Grantaire huffs a laugh and looks down at the table for a second, and then he says, “It was just really long, to be perfectly honest. Our coffee machine decided to break down, and we had a number of really demanding customers who didn’t seem to understand that if we run out of a book it’s going to take a number of days to restock it, if not weeks. Not to mention our new intern hasn’t even studied art, and therefore knows next to nothing about anything. When a customer asked her what books she would suggest for a beginner’s interest in surrealism she couldn’t even come up with Dalí as a reference point, let alone actually give real advice. The most she can do is stack shelves, and even that she’s not so good at.”

Enjolras realises he’s started to grin when Grantaire comes to an abrupt stop and raises an eyebrow at him. He looks amused. “What’s so funny?”

Enjolras looks down, bashfully, and tries to stop grinning so broadly. “Nothing’s funny. It’s just… You’re very passionate about your job.”

With a shrug, Grantaire says, “I love it. Most days.”

“I can tell,” Enjolras says. Grantaire’s face breaks into a grin, and Enjolras is helpless to do anything but smile in return.

+

Grantaire presses his forefingers to his temples, massaging gently, as he hides in the backroom of the bookstore. Why, why, why do they insist on playing music, and why, why, why must people bring screaming children into the store?

He has the worst headache known to man. He just wants to melt into the floor and stop existing for a while. It’s only him and the fucking intern working today’s shift, so he can’t actually hide in the backroom forever, and when he hears the chime to indicate that someone has entered the store, he groans.

Emerging from the backroom, he finds a few of his friends in the store, and he blinks in surprise. “What are you doing here?” He asks the question in general, but his eyes are fixed on Enjolras. Of all the group, he’s the one that Grantaire least expected to ever see here.

Bahorel grins and says, “We were passing by, wondered if you wanted to grab lunch.”

Grantaire pulls a face. “I’d love to, but it’s just me and The Useless One in today, so I can’t really leave.”

“Hey!” The Useless One says, in protest. Grantaire shoots her a look, and she then says, “I mean, you’re right, but you don’t have to say it, R.”

Grantaire tiredly smiles at her. “You’re getting better,” he admits. She beams in success and then wanders off to go and stack more shelves with the new shipping of books.

“You can’t get away at all?” Jehan asks, frowning. “Have you had anything to eat?”

Grantaire shakes his head. “Not yet. I’ve got a sandwich in the back. Say, do any of you know how to turn off this fucking music; I’ve got a splitting headache, and I can’t find the switch anywhere.”

All of his friends look even more concerned at this, and Feuilly says, “I’m sure I can work it out.”

Grantaire gives him a thankful smile and leans against the counter. He rubs at his temple again. He closes his eyes for a second. The darkness helps somewhat.

“Here, drink this. You’ll feel better.” Enjolras’ voice makes him open his eyes. Enjolras is holding out his water bottle. “I might have some ibuprofen in here too, if you’d like.”

“Thank you,” Grantaire says, with feeling, taking hold of the bottle and unscrewing the cap. Enjolras roots around inside his satchel, looking for the medicine. Grantaire knows he’s found what he’s looking for when he lets out a sound of victory and grins.

When Grantaire takes the pills off Enjolras, he catches Jehan’s eye, and finds his friend watching the interaction with open curiosity. Jehan raises an eyebrow, inquisitively, and Grantaire shakes his head, ever so slightly. Enjolras clearly sees the non-verbal conversation, and doesn’t comment.

Grantaire swallows the pills one at a time with a gulp of water and some difficulty. He hates taking pills, but the after-effect is worth it.

Just as he’s handing Enjolras’ water back, the music shuts off, and Grantaire declares: “I’m going to kiss that man.”

Feuilly comes back into the room, and Grantaire does just as he said he would. Feuilly grins at him, and says, “You’re welcome. And thank you.”

Enjolras clears his throat. “We should get going to lunch,” he says.

Bahorel makes a sound of agreement. Feuilly says, “Are you sure you can’t join us, R?”

Grantaire gives him a rueful smile. “I’m sure. This place would fall apart without me.”

“That probably is true,” Jehan says with a laugh. He gives Grantaire a hug and bounces on his toes as he makes Grantaire promise to come by later. Bahorel ruffles his hair.

Enjolras doesn’t say a word. In fact, he hardly looks at Grantaire as the group leaves the shop, leaving Grantaire feeling oddly bewildered.

+

“Whoa,” Grantaire says, throwing out an arm as he nearly slips on the black ice that coats the pavement outside his home. It’s almost December, and the streets of Paris are icy and cold. Grantaire frowns down at the pavement.

He takes a tentative step forwards and beams when he stays on his feet. Standing at the roadside, he sticks a hand into his pocket in search of his car keys. “Fuck,” he then says, simply, as he stands in front of his car with no way of getting into it.

Technically, he could just nip back into his flat to get them, but he lives on the ninth floor, and the lift isn’t working at the minute, so he doesn’t really want to. He’s already late for the meeting, and he’s exhausted after a day of work, and he just wants to sit on the floor for a bit, really.

So he does. He sits down on the freezing cold pavement next to his car, and leans his forehead against the door. He’s just so fucking tired.

A voice behind him asks, “Are you alright, Sir?”

Grantaire turns his head to see a woman in her mid-thirties looking at him with concern in her eyes.

“Just fine,” he replies.

“That doesn’t seem true,” she tells him, and Grantaire laughs, softly.

“That’s because it’s not.” He gets to his feet. “It’s nothing. Thank you for asking.”

“No problem,” she tells him, and then she sets off on her way again. Grantaire stares after her for a moment, and then echoes her action of productivity and begins the walk to the Musain.

He sits alone when he reaches the café, and tries to pay attention to what the group is discussing today. He can’t really find it in him. He can’t find it in him to laugh, either, when he usually would.

“Are you okay?” Enjolras asks at the end of the meeting. “You seem… quiet.”

“I don’t feel much like laughing,” Grantaire responds, staring down at his drink.

“That’s a shame,” says Enjolras. “I like your laugh.”

Grantaire’s head jerks up to look at him. He can’t deal with this right now. “I’m going home,” he decides. “I’m really tired.”

Enjolras nods. “Okay,” he says. “Drive safely.”

Grantaire wants to cry. “I walked,” he says.

Enjolras smiles. “Then, walk safely.”

Grantaire just about manages a smile in return as he gets to his feet and pulls his jacket back on. “You can have my drink,” he tells Enjolras, and then he turns and walks away.

Joly and Bossuet catch up to him as he leaves the café, and Joly slips an arm around his waist as Bossuet offers him a lift. Grantaire thanks them, but says, “I’d like the air.” They nod understandingly. God, he loves them. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says. Bossuet gives him a kiss on the cheek.

+

Enjolras is watching Grantaire out the corner of his eye. He’s being very distracting, all smiles and laughter and loudness. Enjolras is supposed to be working. He’s also supposed to be alone in the flat, as Combeferre invited Grantaire to go see a movie that they were both excited about with him, but then they left the movie early and decided to come back to the flat.

Grantaire bursts out laughing mid-sentence, and Enjolras sighs internally. He can’t concentrate.

He gets to his feet. “Would anybody like coffee?” he asks Combeferre and Grantaire.

The two of them are sitting on the piece of furniture that’s too big to be called a chair, but far too small to be called a sofa. Enjolras bought it because it’s comfy to sprawl in and contains all his limbs. He didn’t buy it so that Combeferre and Grantaire could snuggle on it and giggle.

Grantaire looks his way, and seems to be surprised that he’s there. “Yes, please,” he says.

Enjolras nods. “It’s two sugars, right?”

Grantaire looks even more surprised. “Yes.”

Enjolras nods again and quickly heads off to the kitchen, checking the kettle has enough water, and then flicking it on. He grabs three mugs from the cupboard, the pot chinking together as he holds all three in one hand.

He tries to ignore Combeferre and Grantaire’s laughter in the next room.

When he brings the mugs back through, carrying them on a tray, his two friends are even more wrapped up in each other. He sort of hates Combeferre for it. He puts the coffees down with slightly more force than necessary, and the liquid spills over the rims on all three. He grabs his own coffee, totally refusing to look at the other two people, and he goes back to his books.

Later, when Grantaire starts getting to his feet, grabbing his jacket off the back of a chair, and his shoes from by the door, Enjolras gets up too.

“I’ll walk you home.”

Grantaire looks at him, sharply. “That’s alright. It’s cold out.”

“I know,” Enjolras says. “It’s also dark out.”

“Don’t you have work to be doing?”

“It can wait until tomorrow.”

Grantaire raises an eyebrow, and then a smile creeps onto his lips. “Alright, then.”

As they walk down the street together, Grantaire asks, “Doing anything for Christmas?”

Enjolras shrugs in the darkness and pulls his jacket tighter around himself. “Not really. Ferre and Courf are going home. I’m just… Staying here, I guess.”

“Me too,” Grantaire supplies, before Enjolras has the opportunity to ask. “We could meet up, if you’d like? I think Marius and Feuilly will be around, too.”

“Éponine, too, most likely,” Enjolras adds in.

Grantaire nods. “Most likely,” he echoes.

“Yeah,” Enjolras says, and clears his throat a little. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

Grantaire shoots him a smile, and it makes Enjolras feel warm all over.

They arrive at Grantaire’s apartment block, and Grantaire says quietly, “This is me.”

Enjolras answers, “I know.”

They share a smile.

“Are you going to be alright getting home?” Grantaire asks. “I realise now your plan was inherently flawed.”

Enjolras grins, and then he pulls out a canister of pepper-spray from his jacket pocket. “I’ll be fine,” he says, giving it a little wave. “Get mugged: give them my money. Get jumped: pepper-spray them.”

Grantaire frowns. “I don’t like the thought of you getting mugged or jumped,” he says.

“Neither do I,” Enjolras replies. “I’ll be fine,” he then promises Grantaire. “I’ll stick to the main roads as best as I can.”

Grantaire continues to look concerned. He says, “Call me when you get home.”

Enjolras smiles. “If it’ll settle your mind, of course.”

“It will,” Grantaire says. He glances over his shoulder at his apartment block. “Well, goodnight, I guess.”

“Goodnight, Grantaire,” Enjolras answers.

He starts the walk back to his own flat once Grantaire is inside his building. Enjolras keeps one hand on the pepper-spray in his pocket for the entire walk.

When Enjolras gets back to his flat, Combeferre’s sitting in the front room, waiting for him. He starts with, “You were glaring at me.”

Enjolras replies, “I think I’m in love with Grantaire.”

+

Grantaire gets the call midday. At the sight of Enjolras’ name on his phone screen, he blinks in surprise, and it takes him a few moments to gather himself enough to hit the green button.

“Hello?” he asks, putting the phone to his ear.

“R,” Enjolras says. “Could you come over?”

Grantaire frowns and swaps which ear he’s holding the phone to. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that. What did you say?”

“I asked if you could come over,” Enjolras repeats.

So Grantaire didn’t mishear.

“Why?” he asks, completely confused.

“Combeferre’s ill,” Enjolras says. “I have to go out, but I don’t want to leave him. Would you?”

Oh. Grantaire rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’ll come over.” He’s not sure why he expected Enjolras to want to actually see him personally. That would be ridiculous.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Enjolras says.

Grantaire laughs. “I know.”

“I’ll see you soon, then?”

“Yup,” Grantaire replies.

“Thanks. Bye,” Enjolras then says, and hangs up.

Grantaire pulls the phone away from his ear and stares down at it for a long moment. Then he quickly starts pulling on a shirt, some shoes, and his jacket.

By the time he gets over to Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac’s flat, Enjolras is sitting ready to go out, tapping his fingers against his knee impatiently. Enjolras’ face fills with relief when he sees Grantaire.

“Thank God you’re here,” Enjolras says.

“Ready to save the day,” Grantaire adds with a grin.

“He’s in his room. Call me if you need anything,” Enjolras says, and then strides for the door, clearly running late for something.

Grantaire laughs a little, staring after him, and then heads off to Combeferre’s room. In there, Combeferre is curled up in his bed, a tissue clutched in one hand, staring off into space. Grantaire grins.

“How are you doing, kiddo?”

Combeferre looks at him for a long moment. Then he asks, “What are you doing here?”

Grantaire shrugs. “Enjolras called me.”

Combeferre laughs and rolls his eyes. “Right.”

“Need anything?”

“New lungs?”

I was thinking more along the lines of soup, really,” Grantaire says.

Combeferre sighs, and then launches into a coughing fit. “Honey in hot water?” he asks.

“That I can do,” Grantaire says, smiling. “I’ll be right back.”

Reaching the kitchen in the flat, Grantaire is horrified to find all the surfaces piled high with dirty dishes. “What the…?” As he lets the water in the kettle boil, Grantaire sets about washing as many plates and mugs as he can. He’s quite pleased with his development, and by the time the water is boiling, most of the surfaces are clean.

He searches a few cupboards to find the honey, and then plops a spoonful into the mug of boiling water. He stirs it as he walks back to Combeferre’s room.

Combeferre grins, sleeping, and takes hold of the mug, moving over to give Grantaire somewhere to sit on the bed. “Read to me?” Combeferre asks.

“What would you like me to read?” Grantaire asks him.

“There should be a book of poetry on the bedside table,” Combeferre informs him.

A quick look proves him to be correct. Grantaire reads for a long time, as his voice gets used to the rhythms of the poems. When Combeferre’s breathing evens out and settles into the soft snoring of his sleep, Grantaire starts to close the book.

“One more chapter,” Enjolras says, quietly.

Grantaire’s head jerks up from the book to see Enjolras standing in the doorway. “How long have you been there?”

“A while,” Enjolras admits. “You have a good reading voice.”

Grantaire blushes and doesn’t quite know what to say to that.

“One more chapter?” Enjolras repeats, this time a question.

Grantaire stares at Enjolras for a long moment, his eyes taking in the open emotion on the man’s face. He looks tired and soft, a few curls of hair hanging out of his bun. Grantaire shifts on the bed, and pats the space next to him. Hesitantly, Enjolras comes to sit down with him.

Grantaire starts to read again, his voice quieter so as not to wake the sleeping Combeferre next to him. He’s astutely aware of Enjolras looking at him.

When Grantaire breaks off midsentence to yawn, Enjolras says, “You can stop, if you want.”

Grantaire smiles softly and glances up at him. “I should probably be getting home.”

“You could stay the night,” Enjolras suggests. He gets to his feet and gestures towards the door. “Come on.”

Grantaire follows him from the room, and turns out the light in Combeferre’s room as he goes. He starts in shock when he realises that Enjolras has led him into his own bedroom.

+

“There is enough room for both of us,” Enjolras reasons, looking down at the bed. Grantaire looks at the mattress too. Enjolras feels like his heart is going to burst out of him, with the speed that it’s going at.

Determinedly, he takes off his shirt, and then his jeans, and then he climbs into the bed, pushing his socks off with his toes once he’s sat down. He won’t look at Grantaire. He can’t. He slips under the duvet, and turns away from Grantaire to give him some privacy.

He hears Grantaire’s clothes drop to the floor, and he feels the dip in the mattress behind him when Grantaire climbs in too. Enjolras can’t breathe.

They both lay in silence, and Enjolras is so very aware of Grantaire’s presence in his bed.

Ten minutes later, as if by unspoken agreement, they both move so that they’re lying closer together. Enjolras rolls to face Grantaire, curling up against his side, and Grantaire throws an arm over him.

“You’re warm,” Enjolras says to Grantaire.

Grantaire pulls him in closer. “You’re cold,” he replies.

“Sorry,” Enjolras mumbles. He’s finding it hard to feel sorry at all. Not when he’s wrapped up in Grantaire’s arms.

_I think I’m in love with you._

+

Grantaire wakes up the next moment with Enjolras wrapped tightly around him. It makes Grantaire’s heart feel full. Then he remembers that this is something he mustn’t get used to, so he takes advantage of the fact that Enjolras is a deep sleeper, and he pries Enjolras from him and gets out of bed.

He makes himself a coffee, leaves it on the table to cool, goes to check on Combeferre – who’s still asleep – and then goes and sits in the kitchen to drink his coffee.

He doesn’t hear Enjolras come in. He doesn’t notice him until he speaks. “Okay, what parallel universe is this? Why are the mugs in the cupboard?” Enjolras asks, blinking round at the kitchen.

Grantaire stifles a laugh. “I did the dishes,” he explains.

“You didn’t have to,” Enjolras says, sounding a little mortified.

“I know,” Grantaire responds. “I just couldn’t deal with the amount of mess in here.”

Enjolras blushes a little.

“Say, where’s Courfeyrac?” Grantaire then asks, realising he hasn’t seen the other resident of the flat the entire time he’s been here.

“At Marius’, I think,” Enjolras says, going across to one of the cupboards and pulling out a jar of instant coffee.

“Ah,” Grantaire says. That explains it. “Do you want breakfast? I can make a mean omelette.”

“I couldn’t ask you-”

“No, no, it’s my treat,” Grantaire immediately interrupts. He heads over to the fridge, and roots around inside for ingredients to make a ham omelette. “Where are your eggs?” he asks, frowning as he scans the kitchen.

Enjolras pauses and frowns. “Uh, over there?” he suggests pointing wildly at a cupboard.

Grantaire groans and resigns himself to searching the whole kitchen for eggs. Once he’s found them, he delivers on making a damn fine omelette, and Enjolras shows his appreciation in a series of moans that are honestly too inappropriate for Grantaire to handle at this time in the morning. He quickly excuses himself under the guise of taking an omelette to Combeferre.

When he gets back, he glances at his watch and swears. “I’m going to be late for work.”

“Oh,” Enjolras says. “Well, have a good day at work and thanks for the breakfast.”

Grantaire grins. “Thanks for sharing your bed,” he says with a wink, and then quickly leaves before instinct takes over and he tries to kiss Enjolras.

+

“R!” Enjolras calls over to him, spotting him and quickly making his way in his direction. “I got you something!” As he walks he pulls out something from his bag, and he pushes it into Grantaire’s hands as soon as he’s near enough.

Grantaire stares down at the teddy bear in his hand. Enjolras bought him a teddy bear? The bear is white and… is dressed like an artist. What’s going on?

“Why have you bought me this?” Grantaire asks. His heart is hammering in his chest. Surely it can’t be because of-

“It reminded me of you,” Enjolras says, smiling. He looks completely oblivious to Grantaire’s inner turmoil. “If you don’t… want it, I can take it back.”

Grantaire’s fingers clutch around the bear tighter. “I want it,” he says.

Enjolras beams. “Great. I’ve gotta go, sorry. Have a great day!”

And with that, the man turns around and disappears out the door. Grantaire stands staring after him. A moment later, he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

 _To Combeferre_ : What are the chances of Enjolras knowing it’s valentine’s day?

 _To Grantaire_ : Quite low. Why?

Grantaire doesn’t reply, he just puts his phone away and stares down at the bear in his hands, holding it so tight his knuckles go white.

+

“Mmm, that looks good,” Grantaire says with a grin as he and Joly join Enjolras and Bossuet at a table in the café. He’s speaking of the cake that Enjolras is eating. Which _is_ delicious, actually. Enjolras’ heart kicks up a notch at Grantaire’s smiling face, and he pushes the plate across the table.

“You can have it.”

Grantaire shakes his head with a cheerful laugh. “No, that’s alright. You enjoy that.”

Enjolras feels a rush of disappointment, and he says, “No, really. I don’t want it.”

Grantaire eyes him suspiciously. “Then why buy it?” He glances at Bossuet, who’s been with Enjolras the whole time. “You’d tell me if he’d poisoned it, wouldn’t you?”

Bossuet barks out a laugh. “Not a chance. I’m still mad at you for losing my copy of The Half-Blood Prince, asshole.”

Grantaire’s responding laugh fills the café with its joy. He’s so beautiful. Grantaire’s eyes find Enjolras’ again. “You sure you don’t want this?”

Trying to remember how to speak, Enjolras just ends up nodding, and then quickly looking away. He takes a deep breath. “I should get going,” he ends up saying.

“Oh,” Grantaire says. “Where you off to?”

“Marius asked to meet up with me,” Enjolras explains. “He’s making me dinner.”

Grantaire quirks a smile. “I thought he was dating your sister, not you.”

Enjolras grins back. “Yeah, but he’s still trying to make up for the Napoleon comment.”

Grantaire bursts out laughing, and Enjolras fills with pride because _he did that_.

“Well, here, take my jacket, it’s cold outside,” Grantaire says, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair and passing it over.

Enjolras blinks at him in surprise. “What about you?”

“I’m wearing a jumper and a shirt, Enj, I’ll be fine. Why do you never remember a jacket anyway?”

“They’re too constricting,” Enjolras explains, a little sheepishly. “I’d rather be cold, but thank you.”

That’s when Joly jumps in and says, “Please, take the jacket, Enjolras.”

Enjolras knows a lost fight when he sees one, and if it’ll settle the minds of his friends, he’ll wear the damn jacket. The damn jacket that belongs to Grantaire. The damn jacket that will likely be too big for Enjolras. The damn jacket that will smell like Grantaire.

He gets to his feet and pulls the jacket on. Predictably, it’s too long, the sleeves cover his hands, and there’s a lot of space in the body. But it’s warm, and soft, and so comfortable.

Grantaire’s looking up at him where he stands with an unreadable expression on his face. “That’s better,” Grantaire eventually says, “isn’t it?”

Enjolras smiles at him. “Yeah,” he replies, and he’s proud of himself when his voice doesn’t break. “I really should go.” He pulls the sleeves down over his hands, and feels a little dorky, standing there in the café, knowing that his cheeks are flushing.

“See you, Enjolras,” Joly says, and it’s only that that reminds Enjolras that he and Grantaire aren’t the only two people in the café.

Grantaire pushes the cake with his fork a little. He smiles up at Enjolras, capturing his attention again. “See you,” Grantaire says.

Enjolras feels like he can’t breathe. “See you,” he says.

+

“He likes you,” Joly says, as Enjolras steps outside onto the street, and Grantaire can’t take his eyes off him through the window until he disappears from view.

“Shut up,” Grantaire says, but he’s smiling, and blushing, and a part of him thinks that, maybe, Joly could be correct.

+

 _From Grantaire:_ Hey, Ferre’s not answering. Are you in? I left a book in his room the other day and I need it.

 _To Grantaire:_ I’m not, but the key is under the mat. Feel free to go in.

 _From Grantaire:_ Keeping your key under the mat is the most unoriginal thing ever and you are definitely going to get robbed someday.

 _To Grantaire:_ Well, where would you suggest? On top of the door?

 _From Grantaire:_ Honestly, leaving a key to your flat lying around outside is kinda ridiculous, anyway.

 _To Grantaire:_ It’s a good thing that I’m ridiculous, though, isn’t it, since you need that book so badly.

 _From Grantaire:_ True. Thank you for being ridiculous, Enjolras.

…

 _From Grantaire:_ May I, pretty please, have one of those cookies in your kitchen?

 _To Grantaire:_ Not mine. I don’t care. (Probably Courfeyrac’s; consume with caution.)

 _From Grantaire:_ You’re a gem.

 _From Grantaire:_ These are delicious, try one when you get home.

+

Enjolras is stretched out on the picnic blanket, basking in the warm sun. It’s early spring, but the weather is beautiful, and his friends couldn’t resist the opportunity to sit outside. Nearby, he can hear Cosette and Bahorel talking about work, and he can hear Jehan, Éponine, Bossuet, Musichetta, Joly, and Feuilly playing football. He’s very aware of that, actually, because while he trusts almost all of their abilities with a ball, he does have his eyes closed and will not be able to move should the ball come flying in his direction.

Grantaire went off on a walk around the park, earlier, with Courfeyrac and Combeferre. They asked if Enjolras would like to join, but he declined in favour of lazing in the sun. (“You could come with us, you know?” Grantaire said, smiling down at him as Enjolras squinted upwards.

“No, thank you. I’ve done enough walking today,” Enjolras replied. “Have fun, though.”

“We will. Don’t get burnt.”)

Enjolras is drifting off to sleep, feeling thoroughly relaxed, when someone flops down next to him, making him jump. He opens his eyes to see Grantaire smiling at him.

“I picked these for you,” Grantaire says, and Enjolras looks down to see that Grantaire is holding a mixture of flowers in his hands. “I can probably make a flower crown, if you’d like.”

“Why would you do that for me?” Enjolras asks, feeling a little drowsy and out of it.

“No reason,” Grantaire says. “I’d just like to.”

“Oh,” Enjolras says. “Well, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Grantaire says. “You can go back to sleep; I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Enjolras smiles, lazily up at him, and lets his eyes fall closed again, feeling comfortable and safe. When he next wakes, there’s a crown of flowers in his hair, and on the walk home he’s careful not to lose any.

+

“I’ve got a lot to do,” Enjolras says, irritably, and Grantaire feels a little wounded.

He says, “Well, I’ll help you study.” He’s grinning, teasing Enjolras, and it does make the man smile, making Grantaire feel successful.

Enjolras looks up at him and says, “We’re not in school anymore.”

Grantaire sits down with him. “I know, thank God.”

Enjolras laughs. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“You _hated_ me,” Grantaire reminds him.

“I never _hated_ you,” Enjolras protests.

“Sure you did,” Grantaire says, smiling though the conversation actually reminds him how much it had hurt to not matter to Enjolras. “You didn’t need me around – I constantly ruined things.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras says, sounding sad, “You’re important too. You’ve always been important to me.”

Grantaire blinks. “Oh,” he says.

Enjolras blushes suddenly and looks back down at his work. He quickly starts tidying away his papers. “I have to go,” he says, abruptly.

Grantaire says, “Oh,” again. Then he says, “Well, good luck.”

“With what?” Enjolras asks.

“Whatever it is you’re studying for,” Grantaire says, and Enjolras smiles a small smile at him.

Enjolras nods. “See you around,” he says, and then he hurries away.

+

Enjolras feels utterly down-trodden. Neither of his flatmates are answering their phones, and he’s soaked to the skin in the downpour of rain. Currently, he’s hiding in the slight overhang at someone’s door, a little worried that the owner of the house is going to find him and send him out into the rain. His hair is plastered to his head, and his clothes are hanging off him, sopping wet. He doesn’t have the money for a taxi, not even for a bus, and despair is flooding through him at the thought of walking home.

For lack of anyone else, he ends up dialling Grantaire’s number, standing there and jigging up and down a little in an attempt to keep warm and also in prayer that Grantaire will pick up. “Pick up, pick up, pick up,” he mumbles to the phone.

He does. “Hello? I was just thinking about you,” Grantaire says, sounding faintly amused and happy.

“Are you busy?” Enjolras asks, ignoring that, though he wants to ask _why? What were you thinking?_

Some of his upset must be apparent in his voice, because Grantaire sounds a lot more serious when he replies, “No, what do you need?”

“Your car?” Enjolras says. “I’m on fifth, and I’m soaked, and I just really need a lift, and I don’t have any money, and-”

“Stay there. I’m coming to get you,” Grantaire interrupts him.

“Thank you,” Enjolras gasps. “Thank you so fucking much.”

“Alright, I’m hanging up now, I won’t be long. I’m not far,” Grantaire promises, and then he does hang up, and Enjolras clutches his phone to his chest, praying that Grantaire comes soon, as this rain isn’t showing any signs of letting up.

When Grantaire pulls up, Enjolras darts out into the rain, yanks the door open and all but throws himself into the car. He breathes out heavily, sitting in the seat, and pushing his sodden hair out of his eyes. Grantaire’s windscreen wipers move back and forth rapidly.

Enjolras turns to look at Grantaire, devastatingly grateful. “Thank you,” he says, heavily. “Oh, God, I’m getting your car all wet.”

Grantaire makes a wounded sound. “Never mind about _that_ ,” he says, “what were you _doing_ out there? You’re soaked!”

Enjolras whines. “I know, I just went to the library and it was a nice day so I walked and I didn’t take money because I was going to the _library_ , and then it just started raining and I’m so far from home and-”

“Alright, breathe,” Grantaire reminds him.

“Thank you so much for coming to get me,” Enjolras repeats.

“I was in the neighbourhood,” Grantaire says, and Enjolras breathes out.

“Still,” he says, “thank you.”

Grantaire waves him off. “Is your seatbelt on?” It wasn’t, but Enjolras quickly pulls it on. He shoots Grantaire a smile, and Grantaire pulls out into the street, driving off. “So, where are we going, Michael Phelps?” Grantaire asks.

Enjolras shoots him a displeased look, and Grantaire grins, cheekily. “Home,” Enjolras says. “Just… I want to go home.”

Grantaire glances at him, expression softening. “Alright,” he says.

After driving in silence for a while, Enjolras notices that there’s music coming out of Grantaire’s stereo, barely heard over the sound of the rain and the old engine. “What’s this?” he asks, turning it up a couple of notches. He still can’t really hear it.

“You might like this, actually,” Grantaire says, turning it up more, so that they both can hear it. “Artist called Andrew Belle. This one’s My Oldest Friend.”

Enjolras listens for a little while. “It’s nice,” he says, eventually.

“It’s sad,” Grantaire replies, with no further explanation.

They fall back into silence as they drive towards Enjolras’ apartment. The album plays through, carrying them back to the flat, and when the engine is shut off and the music stops, leaving them with only the sound of the rain and their own breathing in the car, it’s deafening. “Here we are,” Grantaire says, eventually, to break the silence.

“Thank you,” Enjolras says. He makes no movement to leave. He says, “Would you like to come up?” staring straight ahead, instead of looking at Grantaire. He hears Grantaire’s breath catch a little.

“I- Yes, alright,” Grantaire says.

Once in the flat, and they’ve established that neither of the other two residents are home, Grantaire says, “Tea?”

“Please,” Enjolras says. “I’m going to go get changed. You know where everything is.”

“That I do,” Grantaire says.

Soon, they sit on the sofa together; Enjolras now warm and dry in one of his many large jumpers, fluffy socks on his feet, and Grantaire is wrapped up in a blanket off the back of the sofa, mugs of teas between their hands. A soothing, comfortable silence rests over them lightly, and Grantaire catches Enjolras’ eye, smiling as he takes a sip of his too-hot tea.

They remain this way for nearly an hour, just looking at each other, each lost in their own thoughts, a brief escape from the real world, and when Grantaire finally leaves, everything feels okay once again.

+

At the next meeting, with the sun streaming in gloriously through the windows, Grantaire comes in whistling and twirling a brightly coloured umbrella. He strolls over to Enjolras and hands it to him. “I brought you an umbrella,” he says, unnecessarily.

Enjolras laughs. “I can see that.”

“Open it,” Grantaire says.

In confusion, Enjolras does as he asks, and bursts out laughing when he sees the block writing on the side: _Merde il pleut._

“Thank you, Grantaire,” Enjolras says, through his laughter. He tries to hand it back, assuming that Grantaire doesn’t mean for him to keep it.

“Oh, I want you to have it,” Grantaire says, not taking it off him.

“Oh,” Enjolras says. “Well, thank you, times two.”

“My pleasure,” Grantaire says, beaming, and then he strolls away, whistling once again as he goes over to where Joly and Bossuet and Feuilly are staring without any subtlety whatsoever. Enjolras just looks after Grantaire, laughing, and shaking his head fondly.

+

Grantaire blinks awake, too hot underneath the blanket that’s covering him. He feels slightly queasy, and sweat coats the back of his neck. Empty packets of Jaffa Cakes and various crisp packets litter the floor, and so do his friends.

Éponine’s taking up the most space, sleeping like a starfish on the rug, but Jehan and Cosette have managed to curl in next to her, only tiny in comparison. Bahorel and Feuilly are still awake, watching the movie, Feuilly tucked under Bahorel’s arm, looking sleepy but happy. Combeferre and Marius are talking quietly to each other, and Courfeyrac is sleeping next to them, snoring softly. Enjolras is on the sofa with Grantaire, and when Grantaire wakes, Enjolras stirs, looking down at him.

“Hey,” Enjolras says with a smile.

“Hi,” Grantaire says, with a slight groan as he sits up. “I’m going to get some water,” he then tells Enjolras, kicking off the blankets that cover him and stumbling in the direction of his kitchen. Enjolras gets up too, and follows him.

Grantaire grabs a glass out of the cupboard, glances at Enjolras, and then gets another. He fills them both with water, and then passes one over.

“Are you alright?” Enjolras asks as Grantaire sips at the water.

Grantaire shakes his head. “I’m not feeling so great right now, but I think I just need to cool down.”

Enjolras nods, watching him with careful eyes. Grantaire’s eyes find the clock on his kitchen wall, the time reading 3:24, and he sighs. “I think I’m going to go to bed,” he tells Enjolras.

“Right,” Enjolras says.

Grantaire pauses. “Do you want to come too?” he asks. “It’ll be cooler in my room, and a lot more comfortable than sleeping on the sofa, which Bahorel and Feuilly probably claimed as soon as we abandoned it, actually.”

“You don’t mind?” Enjolras asks.

“Not at all,” Grantaire says, with a slight smile. “It’s not like we’ve never shared a bed before. C’mon.”

They step quietly through the living room, passing by their friends, and head down the corridor to Grantaire’s room without turning on any lights. In the darkness, they pull off their jeans and t-shirts, without a second thought, and then slip under the covers. Instinctively, they lean towards each other in the bed, and then Grantaire rolls onto his side, and Enjolras presses his front up against Grantaire’s back. An arm slides around Grantaire’s waist, a hand pressing gently against his stomach.

“Is this okay?” Enjolras breathes into the silent air.

Grantaire smiles. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s kinda nice, actually.”

Silence for a few moments, then, “Do you feel any better?”

“Loads,” Grantaire says, honestly. “I think it was just too warm in there.”

Enjolras sighs, in a way that sounds soothingly content. “Go back to sleep,” he tells Grantaire, and the hand that’s pressed against Grantaire’s stomach caresses him, just a little. It makes Grantaire’s skin tingle, and it’s a wonderful feeling.

He drifts off to sleep, more relaxed than he’s felt in a long while.

+

“I’m _starving_ ,” Grantaire complains, collapsing into the chair beside Bahorel in a café.  He sniffs, loudly, smelling the air. “Who has donuts?” he demands, looking round the circle of his friends. When he realises that it’s Enjolras that has donuts he blushes and tries to laugh it off, until Enjolras slides the paper bag across to him. “Oh, Enj, I can’t,” he says, still blushing furiously.

“That’s okay, I bought two,” Enjolras says.

Grantaire pauses. “You bought… two?” he asks. “Why?”

“Because I knew you’d be hungry,” Enjolras says, plainly.

“How?”

“You’re always hungry,” Enjolras says, with a slight laugh.

Grantaire is acutely aware that all of their friends are watching this exchange with hawk-like eyes.

“Oh,” Grantaire says. “Um, are you sure?”

“I bought it for _you_ ,” Enjolras says, rolling his eyes.

“Well, thank you,” Grantaire says, awkwardly. He pulls the paper bag closer to himself and rips it open to get out the still-warm donut, coated in sugar. It smells delicious. He shoots Enjolras a smile and then tears into it with his fingers, popping a small piece into his mouth.

Bahorel elbows him, giving him a wide-eyed look when Grantaire turns to glare at him, and Grantaire just shrugs, unable to come up with an explanation when Enjolras is just on the other side of the table. He takes another bite of the donut.

+

Of course it would be Grantaire that would find him like this. Of _course_ it’s Grantaire. He’s sitting on the living room floor, sobbing, and of course Grantaire had to walk in right then.

“Enjolras?” he hears Grantaire gasp, and he just buries his face in his hands and lets out another sob. “Enjolras, what’s wrong?”

“Go away,” Enjolras moans. “What are you even doing here?”

Grantaire sits down on the floor next to him, and he feels Grantaire put one of his hands on his back. His thumb starts to rub, gently. “I came to see Combeferre,” Grantaire explains. “What happened, Enjolras?”

“ _Nothing_ ,” Enjolras spits. “It’s none of your business.”

“I know,” Grantaire says, voice kind, “but maybe I can help.”

Enjolras shakes his head. “You can’t.”

“How can you know that?” Grantaire asks him, softly. He uses the sort of tone that makes Enjolras want to just relax into his touch and tell him everything. “Come here. Let me fix it,” Grantaire says.

Enjolras looks up at him, and Grantaire gives him a smile, just for him. That alone makes him feel a little better. He takes a deep breath and hastily tries to wipe the tears from under his eyes. “It’s stupid,” he says.

“I’m sure it’s not,” Grantaire replies. “I cry over everything. There’s no shame in that.”

Enjolras snuffles a little laugh. “It’s- It’s my dad,” he says.

Grantaire frowns a little. “What about him?”

“He’s going to die,” Enjolras says. “He’s in hospital. They won’t let me visit him.”

Grantaire splutters. “And you think that’s a stupid reason to cry? Fucking hell, Enjolras, I cry when I run out of coffee!”

“You don’t get it. I don’t even _like_ the guy, and he _hates_ me, and I still can’t bear the thought that he’s going to die,” Enjolras explains.

“Oh, Enj,” Grantaire says. “You can cry, it’s okay.”

“Can I hold your hand?” Enjolras asks Grantaire, quietly.

Grantaire startles in surprise, and Enjolras immediately regrets asking. He can already feel a blush forming on his face when Grantaire says, “Yes,” and grabs his hand. “Listen, Enj,” he says, thumb rubbing up and down as they sit there, “it’s perfectly understandable that you’re upset. Really. My granddad was an asshole. I mean it! He tried to get me disowned when I came out to the family, and I haven’t seen him since. When he died I cried for days. Because even though we didn’t like each other, my grandma loved him, and my mum loved him, and he was family. I even went to the funeral. I went to the funeral and cried over a guy who hated me! You’re losing someone who’s a big part of your life, Enjolras. You can cry.”

Enjolras looks up at Grantaire, who’s so steady and calm, with his watery eyes, and he nods a little, lower lip trembling. “I hate crying,” he admits. “I hate how… pathetic it makes me look.”

Grantaire’s answering smile is filled with sadness, and he says, “You don’t look pathetic to me. Just… human.”

Enjolras’ answer is a fresh wave of tears.

“Take a deep breath,” Grantaire prompts, and he wraps an arm around Enjolras, pulling him closer. “It’s going to be okay.”

Enjolras nods, hurriedly, into Grantaire’s chest.

“We could Mission Impossible it,” Grantaire offers. “I’ll get you into that damned hospital if it kills the both of us.”

Enjolras looks up at him and pulls a face at him.

“I’m serious,” Grantaire tells him, letting a smile slip onto his face. “I bet we can get Éponine and Jehan in on his too, and you’d have to _pay_ Joly and Bossuet not to help.”

That makes Enjolras actually laugh, a startled, unexpected sound. It stops as quickly as it started, and Enjolras feels surprised at himself.

It clearly encourages Grantaire to carry on, rubbing his hand up and down Enjolras’ back. “We’ll all have to wear black, though, to really spy things up. I’ll charm whoever’s working the front desk with my flirting skills, while you and the others sneak past. Bahorel and Feuilly and Musichetta can all wear ski masks to kidnap your family and get them out the way, et voila, you are with your father.”

Enjolras looks at him with damp eyes, but there’s a light in them now, and on his lips is a cautious smile.

“Hey, there’s that smile we all love,” Grantaire says, with a smile of his own. “So, you think my plan’ll work?”

Chuckling, Enjolras nods. “Yeah, it’s perfect, R.” He leans his head against Grantaire’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he says. “You didn’t need to do this.”

“I don’t mind,” Grantaire reassures him. “What are friends for?”

 “Still,” he says, with nothing else to say, “thank you.”

Grantaire doesn’t reply, just gives him a squeeze, and breathes out through his nose in a way that sounds like a smile.

They stay sat there on the floor, leaning up against the sofa, until they hear the sound of the door opening, and even then, Enjolras really doesn’t want to move away from Grantaire. He looks up, though, in time to see Combeferre come into the front room and stop, stock still.

“Oh,” Combeferre says, and Enjolras pulls away from Grantaire. “What’s going on here?”

“Nothing,” Grantaire says, getting to his feet, and stretching. He wanders over to Combeferre and plants a kiss on his cheek. “I’m starving, though. Shall I make us dinner?”

Enjolras stays looking at Combeferre, who’s looking right back at him, an unreadable expression on his face.

“That sounds good,” Combeferre says to Grantaire, still looking at Enjolras.

Enjolras gets up too, then, and says, “Where’s Courf?”

“Parking the car,” Combeferre explains, and his comment is punctuated by the door swinging open and Courfeyrac making his way into the flat, loudly. He kicks off his shoes, sending them flying and not bothering to pick them up.

Courfeyrac comes to a standstill when he sees Combeferre and Enjolras standing, some distance apart, just looking at each other. Courfeyrac’s eyes zero in on Enjolras. “Have you been crying?” he asks, bluntly.

A blush tinges Enjolras’ cheeks. “Um, yes, we’ll talk about it later.”

Grantaire reappears in the doorway to the kitchen. “Basically, all you losers have is pasta, is that okay?”

Courfeyrac looks surprised to see Grantaire, but he grins and says, “That sounds delicious. I’ll help you make a sauce. Combeferre?”

He walks after Grantaire, and Combeferre looks at Enjolras for a long moment, and then follows.

Enjolras is left standing in the living room, feeling utterly lost.

+

The next time Enjolras and Grantaire cross paths is… a little awkward. Grantaire doesn’t really know how to treat Enjolras now that he’s seen him in a moment of weakness, and Enjolras clearly doesn’t know what to say to make things go back to the way they were.

This is especially obvious as, after a couple of false starts and a long moment of uncomfortable silence, Enjolras chooses to blurt out, “I dreamt about you last night.”

Grantaire startles and looks at Enjolras in bewilderment. “Did you, now?” he asks, unknowing of what else he _could_ say to that.

Enjolras blushes then, which makes Grantaire smile, and suddenly things aren’t so stilted. “Yes,” Enjolras confesses. “It was nothing weird,” he rushes to assure Grantaire.

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” Grantaire says, putting an inflection in his voice that leaves Enjolras with no doubt that he thinks it was.

“It was a little weird,” Enjolras admits.

“You want to tell me about it?” Grantaire asks.

Enjolras shakes his head. “No,” he says. “Not yet.”

Grantaire gives him a look, intrigued, but he lets it go. “Did you get your invitation for Cosette and Marius’ wedding?” he asks.

Smiling, Enjolras nods. “Yes, it was sickeningly cute, wasn’t it?”

“Did you expect anything else?” Grantaire asks, with a laugh. “I’m going to be horribly jealous the entire day,” he confesses.

“You are?” Enjolras asks, frowning slightly. “Jealous of… Marius?”

Laughing, Grantaire shakes his head. “God, no, though Cosette _is_ lovely. Simply jealous of what they have.”

“I didn’t realise you were a romantic,” Enjolras says, quietly.

“I’m an atrocious romantic,” Grantaire reveals. “Yes, take me to art galleries, buy me flowers, and serenade me under the stars.” He laughs. “Well, actually I’d rather do all that for someone else. All I want is someone to be with me.”

Enjolras smiles, gently. “Me too,” he concedes. “Don’t give me that look,” he then protests. “I’m allowed to be a romantic too.”

“Of course you are,” Grantaire says. “Actually, I don’t know why I’m surprised that you’re a romantic, what with all your idealism.”

Enjolras sticks his tongue out at him. Then he smiles down at the table. “Yes, well I believe in humanity, and love is one of our best qualities.”

“People do all sorts in the name of love,” Grantaire acknowledges.

“And not all of it is bad. Most of it, in fact, is good,” Enjolras replies. “People will fight for love above all else. I fight for my love of humanity.”

Grantaire watches him for a moment, and then ducks his head to take a sip of coffee. “Thank God for people like you,” Grantaire says, eventually. “Without people like you, we really would be doomed.” He then looks at the watch on his wrist. Enjolras is looking at him with something close to amazement in his eyes, and Grantaire can’t bear it. “I should go,” he tells Enjolras. “I promised Bossuet I’d meet him for lunch. He says he has something of the utmost importance to discuss.”

Enjolras just nods and stares at him as he gets to his feet.

“I’ll see you later,” Grantaire promises. “You are coming to the party tonight, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” Enjolras says. “I think everyone would murder me if I didn’t.”

Grantaire grins. “That they would.”

With that said, he leaves, pulling on his coat as he walks towards the doorway of the café.

+

“Sorry I’m late,” Enjolras says, blushing slightly. He’s just arrived at Éponine’s flat, greeted by Grantaire at the door.

“That’s okay, you’re here now,” Grantaire says. “I saved a piece for you,” he then adds, in reference to the destroyed birthday cake that sits on the coffee table in the living room.

“Enjolras!” Éponine cries out, spotting him, clearly well on her way to being drunk. Enjolras and Grantaire share an amused look as the birthday girl clambers to her feet and wobbles her way over to them, throwing her arms around a shocked Enjolras, enthusiastically.

“Happy birthday, Ép,” Enjolras says to her when she releases him. She beams at him, and then surges forwards to plant a kiss on his lips. “Éponine!” he protests, pushing her back, and shooting an alarmed look at Grantaire, who looks horrified.

Éponine giggles. Courfeyrac comes darting over, pushing a glass of water into Éponine’s hand, and pulling her away from Grantaire and Enjolras.

“Um,” Grantaire says, looking like he doesn’t quite know what to do. “She’ll… apologise tomorrow, promise. She’ll feel bad about it.”

Enjolras chuckles, now he’s over the shock. “No, it’s fine. I don’t mind. I know she doesn’t mean anything by it. She’s always like this when she’s drunk. In fact, the rest of you are like that sober, I’m the only one who...” He trails off awkwardly, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

“Right,” Grantaire says. “Well, we should probably join them.”

When they take a seat with the others, Grantaire frowns. Enjolras knows this because, for some reason, he can’t seem to take his eyes off him. “I can’t help but notice,” Grantaire says, “that we only have wine. How the hell is Ép so smashed?”

“It’s cheap wine,” Combeferre explains, swishing his own glass round a little. His glasses are slightly off-centre, and his cheeks are rosy.

“And she’s a lightweight,” Montparnasse chimes in, smiling down at the still-giggling Éponine fondly.

A while into the evening, even for Enjolras who arrived late, Courfeyrac declares, “We should play spin the bottle.”

“Why?” Grantaire asks, from where he’s slowly working his way through the remainder of Éponine’s birthday cake with Joly and Bossuet. “Are we twelve?”

Enjolras agrees with Grantaire, but the rest of his friends seem keen to relieve their youth. It’s fine, actually, Enjolras doesn’t get involved that much, with so many of them it’s rare that they get repeat performances. He does kiss Combeferre and he kisses Musichetta too, but it’s quick and doesn’t mean anything at all.

But he also has to watch Grantaire make out intensely with Jehan, though he knows it means exactly nothing, since Jehan’s aromantic, and he has to watch as Grantaire flirts his way over to Bahorel, sitting in his lap and kissing him slowly and lasciviously.

And then the bottle lands on Enjolras again. Obediently he looks over to find out who spun it, since he zoned out a little.

When he realises it’s Grantaire, he freezes. Grantaire grins at him. “Are you coming to me, or am I coming to you?”

“I don’t want to kiss you!” Enjolras blurts out, more squeals, actually. It’s horrifically embarrassing and everyone stares at him for a long, enduring moment.

“Right,” Grantaire says, face fallen flat, voice lacking all of his teasing from a moment ago. “Right,” he says again, and then he gets to his feet and stalks out of the room.

Enjolras looks to Courfeyrac, feeling panicked, and Courfeyrac is staring at him with something akin to guilt on his face. “What did I do?” Enjolras asks, looking at Courfeyrac, though it’s not Courfeyrac who answers.

“You refused to kiss him,” Éponine says, slowly, looking a lot less drunk suddenly. “Which is totally your prerogative, but you didn’t have a problem kissing anyone else.”

Enjolras stares around his group of friends, who all are no longer having as much fun as they had been having moments before. He gets to his feet and follows Grantaire out the room, ignoring Combeferre calling after him to not go.

He finds Grantaire standing on the fire escape, through Éponine’s bedroom, smoking a cigarette and staring down at the dingy alley below.

“I’ve upset you,” Enjolras says, slowly. He watches Grantaire for any sign of confirmation, though, really, it’s obvious. Grantaire’s shoulders are tight, and he won’t turn his head to look at Enjolras. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” He takes a deep breath. “Grantaire, I can kiss Combeferre because he’s my best friend, and I can kiss Chetta because it doesn’t mean a single thing, but I can’t… I can’t kiss you like this. I can’t kiss you for a game.” _Because I’m in love with you, and to kiss you for a game would ruin me._

Grantaire turns to look at him. His face is impassive. “Why not?” he asks, and he sounds truly hurt. “Why won’t you kiss me for a game?”

“Because-” Enjolras stumbles. “Because it would _mean_ something to kiss you. At least for me, it would. And- And I can’t just _do that_ , Grantaire.”

Grantaire’s face scrunches up, and there’s a crease between his eyebrows. His eyes are oddly shiny in the light from inside the flat. “I don’t understand,” he tells Enjolras.

“You…” Enjolras pauses. “That is, I… We’re not… I’m not. I’m not able to kiss you and it not mean… _something_.”

Grantaire’s face changes from confusion, opening up into utter incredulity. “You _like_ me?” he asks, sounding amazed.

Enjolras blushes. “I… Yes.” He shakes his head. “Yes,” he says, more certainly, fighting the blush. “Yeah, I like you. Um, quite a lot, actually, but I’m still… I’m working it out, okay? And I can’t- I can’t kiss you. Yet. Um, if you-”

“I do,” Grantaire says. “I would, I mean. Like to kiss you, that is.”

“Oh,” Enjolras says. “Oh, well, that’s good, I guess? But, like I said, I can’t. Yet.”

“I’ll wait,” Grantaire says, immediately.

“You will?” Enjolras asks, confused. “Why- Why would you do that?”

“Because I like you quite a lot too, obviously,” Grantaire says, and then lets out a disbelieving laugh. “I can’t believe I just said that out loud _to you_. Anyway, my point is I’ll wait. I can wait. We’ll figure it out.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras says, voice soft and gentle. “Thank you.”

“So, we’re friends,” Grantaire says, smiling.

“Friends,” Enjolras repeats, quietly.

“With potential,” Grantaire says.

Enjolras laughs. “Yeah, alright. Friends with potential.”

And that’s how Enjolras and Grantaire begin their hesitant, unusual, courtship.

+

“I’ll drive you to the hospital,” Enjolras says, face pale and eyes scared. It hasn’t been a week since Enjolras told Grantaire that he likes him, and then he does _this_ to him. Grantaire wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him. Grantaire wouldn’t have gotten into that fight if it wasn’t for him. He feels sick.

Grantaire waves a hand impatiently. “I’m fine,” he grits out, while his other hand is still holding onto his torso.

“No you are not,” Enjolras says, trying desperately to keep his voice level. “Grantaire, I’m taking you to the hospital, you might have broken something.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire agrees. “Probably a rib, actually, but there’s nothing a hospital can do about that, except confirm that I broke my rib, so I really don’t need to go.”

“Well _I_ need you to go!” Enjolras yells. “You got hurt because of me, Goddamn it, Grantaire, just go to the _fucking hospital_!” He stops, breathing heavily, and he looks severely shaken up. “Grantaire, I- I don’t know where our friends are, I don’t know if they’re okay, and I just really need to know that _you_ are okay, right now. Please, I’m begging you, let me take you to the hospital.”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says. He reaches out for him, grabbing hold of one of Enjolras’ hands. Enjolras squeezes back. “Enj, I swear to you that I am fine. Let’s go back to yours, yeah? I’ll put some ice on my injury and sit down for a bit, and you can call our friends.”

Enjolras looks around them, and then looks back at Grantaire. “Yeah. Yeah, alright.”

“Good,” Grantaire says. “Now, are you going to help me walk, or what?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Enjolras says, wrapping an arm under Grantaire’s arms, as Grantaire throws an arm over Enjolras’ shoulders. Grantaire winces, but he then glares at Enjolras as he takes a breath to start apologising, so Enjolras stays quiet.

When they finally – _finally_ – get to Enjolras’ flat, he helps Grantaire onto the sofa, feeling utterly useless. He fetches Grantaire a bag of frozen peas from the freezer and then paces up and down the living room, feeling on edge and erratic. No one picked up when he called them, and he doesn’t know what to do. He feels impatient, hot and bothered, and his face is heating as he feels the familiar pricks in his eyes that lead to tears.

He flops onto the sofa, next to Grantaire, and feels horrible.

“Don’t cry,” Grantaire says, softly, and Enjolras hadn’t realised it was that obvious. “It’s not your fault, okay? I’m the one that jumped in to defend you.” He tries for a smile, but he’s obviously in pain. “Hey, let’s watch a movie to distract us,” Grantaire says. “What do you want to watch?”

“I don’t care,” Enjolras says, and then watches as Grantaire’s face falls. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean that. Thank you, R. It’s a lovely idea, I’m just not sure I’ll be able to concentrate on a movie, I feel sick with worry.”

Grantaire places a hand on Enjolras’ forearm. “Enjolras, they’re fine, I’m fine, you’re fine. Everything’s going to be okay. You’ll see. They’ll call you back, and everyone’s going to be okay.”

Enjolras gives him a distressed look, and his eyes slide down to Grantaire’s internal injury.

“Don’t worry about me,” Grantaire says, braving a smile. “It’s just a slight injury; I’ll be back to my normal self, quick as a flash.”

Enjolras swallows. He feels weak, though he’s not the one who was hurt.

+

A few days later, Grantaire lies in bed, willing himself to fall asleep. His side hurts, almost unbearably, and he hates looking at the black and blue bruise on his skin. It’s nearing one am, and he simply can’t sleep. That’s not for lack of trying, either. He’s just in so much pain.

His phone vibrates on the bedside table, and when he lights up the screen, he sees that Joly has tagged him in something on Facebook. He stares at his phone screen for a while, and ends up scrolling through his list of contacts.

His thumb hovers over a particular name, arguing with himself over whether to call or not. He presses down on the name, and then hits call.

He waits with the phone on speaker, listening to the dial tone and the rings. Enjolras picks up on the fifth ring.

“Grantaire,” he says. “Is everything alright?”

“I- I can’t sleep,” Grantaire says. “I just… Can we talk? I’m sorry for calling so late.”

“It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep anyway,” Enjolras says, immediately, and Grantaire doesn’t know if he’s lying or not.

“God, look at the time,” Grantaire says, for no reason. He can’t think of anything else to say.

Enjolras laughs softly. “How are you, Grantaire?”

Grantaire smiles. “In pain,” he admits. “My side is killing me. I can’t get comfortable, and I can’t sleep for the life of me.”

Enjolras makes a suitably sympathetic sound. “I’m sorry,” he says. “If it helps any, I can’t, either. I’ve been thinking a _lot_ , and I just can’t get my brain to shut up.”

“Could I help?” Grantaire asks.

Enjolras hesitates, audibly. “Probably not,” he says, eventually. “It’s… It’s about you, really. I was surprised when you called. Thought I’d become telepathic.”

Grantaire snorts, and Enjolras laughs with him for a short moment. “Not physic, just friends with a fellow sleepless human.” He hums, softly. “What were you thinking about me?”

“It’ll sound callous,” Enjolras warns him.

“Go ahead,” Grantaire says.

“I was trying to decide whether becoming involved with you was worth it or not. Weighing up the pros and cons, so to speak.” When Grantaire doesn’t reply, Enjolras sighs and says, “I told you it would sound callous.”

Grantaire swallows thickly. “No,” he says, mouth dry. “No, it’s… logical, I guess. Talk me through some of your thoughts,” he suggests.

Enjolras is quiet for a few seconds. He says, “I suppose I’m mainly thinking about cons.” He then says, “Not intentionally, mind you. You know I’m very inexperienced when it comes to… dating, and I guess my mind is very fixated on reasons why not to become attached to someone. Cons,” he then says, voice becoming quiet, hesitant. “Cons: you could leave me. You might not lo- feel as strongly as I do. You might decide that our differences are too much for us. You might, though this is incredibly negative of me, die.” He’s silent, once more. “Pros: you might make me the happiest I’ve ever been.”

When Enjolras doesn’t add to the list, Grantaire breathes out heavily. “ _Enjolras_ ,” he breathes.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Enjolras says, quickly. “Lord knows I’m feeling unbearably vulnerable right now.”

Grantaire settles for simply repeating Enjolras’ name. “Enjolras.”

“I should sleep,” Enjolras says, abruptly. “I- Grantaire. I just want you to know how much you mean to me. Whatever happens. Goodnight, Grantaire,” he then says.

“Sweet dreams,” Grantaire says, smiling for reasons he can’t fathom.

All he can hear for a moment is Enjolras breathing down the line, and then Enjolras hangs up.

+

“Ready for the wedding of a lifetime?” Grantaire asks, grinning widely as he gets out of the door that Enjolras is holding open for him. “This is going to be extravagant as hell, Enj.”

Enjolras groans. “I know.” Then he smiles. “Welcome, by the way. It’s good to see you.”

Grantaire smiles and falls into a hug that doesn’t last long enough. He heads round to the boot of the taxi and waits for the taxi driver to open the boot. Once he has, Grantaire reaches in for his suitcase. Enjolras beats him to it, taking the handle in his hand and swinging it out of the boot with ease.

“No, let me get that,” Grantaire protests, reaching for his own suitcase.

“It’s not heavy. I’m stronger than I look,” Enjolras replies, pulling it out of Grantaire’s reach.  He smiles. “I’m happy to help, R. You grab the rest of your things.”

Scowling, Grantaire reaches for his satchel, pulling it over his shoulder. “See? I could easily carry both.”

Enjolras smirks. “You _could_ , but you’re not. Come on, R, let me carry your bag. It’s not the end of the world.”

Sighing, Grantaire says, “ _Fine_ , you can carry my bag, but only as far as the lobby. I can get it up to my room just fine.”

“You injured your ribs not four weeks ago, Grantaire. _Please_ , let me help you get to your room.”

“I _knew_ this was about that,” Grantaire says, pointing a finger at Enjolras with a slight grin, as if he’s caught Enjolras out. Enjolras just laughs and starts to walk in the direction of the hotel, glancing behind him to check briefly that Grantaire is following him. He is, with a smile on his face.

Reaching the lobby of the hotel, Enjolras stops to let Grantaire catch up, and he leads him over to the receptionist. “So once you’re in your room you’ve probably got about half an hour before dinner. We’ll be in the restaurant, it’s pretty easy to find, but I could wait for you to get ready if you want,” he says as Grantaire gives his name to the receptionist.

“Yeah, that sounds good, thank you,” Grantaire says, smiling at the receptionist and taking his key card off her. “Thanks,” he says to the woman, receiving a blinding smile in response.

Enjolras and Grantaire head into the lift, pressing the number for Grantaire’s floor. “I’m a few doors down from you,” Enjolras says, feeling a little elated at that fact. “277,” he says. “I’m just going to go grab something. You can get changed I’ll meet you at your room.”

“Sounds good,” Grantaire says as the lift dings and the doors slide open, smoothly. The hotel is beautiful, cream carpets and ornate furnishings. It’s like nothing Enjolras has ever seen before, surpassing all hotels he’s stayed in throughout his life, even with his wealthy upbringing. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Grantaire gazing, slack-jawed, at the artwork on the walls.

They part at Grantaire’s doorway, and Enjolras carries on to his own room. He only nips in to grab a tie, and as he wanders back to Grantaire’s room, he knots it round his neck. He knocks on Grantaire’s door and waits.

When the door opens, Enjolras nearly chokes on his own spit. He recovers quickly, however, and manages to say, “Where’s your shirt? What if I’d been some poor unsuspecting staff?”

Grantaire laughs and replies, “I looked through the peephole to check it was you. Nice tie,” he then adds, “it brings out your eyes.”

Enjolras flushes and nods, moving further into the room.

Grantaire grabs his shirt off the back of a chair, pulling it round himself and efficiently buttoning it up. “Have you seen my…?”

Enjolras throws the tie to him. Grantaire grins, snagging it out of the air and lifting his collar to position the tie round his neck. “Would you?” he asks, gesturing at the ends of the tie helplessly.

“You can’t tie a tie?” Enjolras asks, amused.

Grantaire rolls his eyes at him. “There’s no need to mock me,” he says, a little grumpily.

Still smiling, Enjolras steps nearer, hands reaching up to take a hold of the tie ends, twisting and knotting it into the perfect shape. “There,” he says.

Grantaire smooths down his tie with one hand. “Thank you,” he says.

Enjolras pauses where he is, hands dropping to his side. Grantaire leans in, their faces close, lips hovering over each other’s. Enjolras stills, pulling back slightly, breath catching in his throat. “Grantaire,” he says, softly.

Grantaire smiles, somewhat sadly. “I know. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have.”

Enjolras feels guilty. He feels horrible for making Grantaire wait like this. “I’m sorry,” Enjolras whispers.

“Hey, no, there’s no need for that,” Grantaire says, forehead creasing with concern. “I’ll still be here when you’re ready.”

Enjolras scans Grantaire’s face, taking in the heart-breaking earnestness in his expression, and he shows his thanks with a small smile. Then, clearing his throat, he steps away, heading for the door, and opening it for Grantaire.

“After you,” Enjolras says, holding the door open and gesturing with his other hand.

Grantaire smirks. “You just wanna check out my ass,” he jokes, lightening the tension in the room, but he goes ahead anyway. Enjolras blushes at the statement, because, while that wasn’t Enjolras’ intention, it _is_ an added bonus to going second.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, a little too late for it to sound casual. Grantaire looks over his shoulder to grin at him as Enjolras swings the door shut.

+

The restaurant is even posher than the rooms, and Grantaire is a little overwhelmed for a moment, up until his friends spot him and Enjolras and start waving and calling over to him, loudly. Grinning, he makes his way over, Enjolras at his side.

Everyone is dressed nicely, but not too nicely. Beautiful dresses, but ones that will be outshone at the wedding tomorrow. Shirts and ties, but not full suits or tuxes like there will be tomorrow.

It’s a lovely evening, just the wedding couple and their closest friends having a meal together before the big day. Grantaire ends up sitting between Enjolras and Joly, and across from Cosette. The conversation is lively, filled with laughter and good cheer, and Grantaire is feeling wonderfully joyful.

When the meal is done with, but the conversation still going, Enjolras muses, “I need another drink,” craning his neck in the direction of the bar and starting to rise to his feet.

“Sit down, I’ll get it,” Grantaire quickly says, getting to his feet and waving off Enjolras. “Another white wine?” he asks.

“Please,” Enjolras says, smiling up at him.

Grantaire almost leans in for a kiss, right then.

+

“Wow,” Enjolras says. Grantaire looks _incredible_. Also, a little embarrassed.

“Shut up,” Grantaire mumbles, fiddling with the hem of his blazer. “I don’t look that good.”

“You really do,” Enjolras tells him. “You should wear suits all the time.”

“But then you’d get used to it,” Grantaire says, falling back into their normal routine.

“I could never,” Enjolras says, truthfully, and it makes Grantaire pause and look at him a little oddly. He quickly swallows and looks away, back at where Marius is pacing at the front of the hall where the wedding ceremony will take place. In less than an hour, Cosette is due to come in through the door that Grantaire just came in through. (Enjolras can’t help but think of Grantaire entering at his own wedding, and how much Enjolras would give to be the man waiting for him at the other end of the aisle.)

+

The music starts – a piece on the cello that Grantaire recognises as Bach – and Marius, standing at the front, visibly tenses, a wide-eyed look of mingled nerves and excitement flashing across his face. Grantaire grins. The congregation get to their feet at the same time, as the doors at the back of the hall open and the first bridesmaid makes her way into the room. Musichetta looks lovely in the simple pink dress that Cosette picked out for her bridesmaids. Éponine is next, smiling broadly, and she gives Grantaire a wink as she goes past. After her comes one of Cosette’s friends from high school, whom Grantaire doesn’t know all that well.

Last, but certainly by no means least, comes Cosette, led by her step-father, Valjean. She’s stunning. “Wow,” Grantaire mouths, taking in the shimmering white fabric, that floats delicately down around the bride, making her look, quite simply, like an angel. As she walks down the aisle, Grantaire looks over at Marius, who’s openly crying, smiling so widely.

Enjolras elbows him. “Are you crying?” Enjolras asks.

“Don’t look at me,” Grantaire protests, turning away from Enjolras. “I’m such an ugly crier.”

“I think you’re beautiful,” Enjolras says, and he says it so quietly that, for a moment, Grantaire thinks he imagined it. Then he looks at Enjolras, mouth falling open. Enjolras smiles at him, cautiously.

The music comes to a stop, something that Grantaire is only partially aware of, and he’s a little slow to sit down when everyone else does.

He’s very aware of his proximity to Enjolras for the rest of the service. It’s only short, no traditional hymns. Instead, they get on with the vows, the exchanging of the rings, and the kiss. Everyone claps and cheers and stamps their feet when the newly-weds kiss for the first time, and Enjolras slips his hand into Grantaire’s.

He keeps hold of Grantaire’s hand for the speech that the wedding officiant gives on love and married life, and Grantaire thinks his heart might burst out of his chest.

+

When the dancing starts, Marius and Cosette lead the way, to a song that Grantaire is surprised to recognise. He leans over to Enjolras, “Hey,” he says, “it’s Andrew Belle.”

Enjolras smiles at him. “Like in the car in the rain?” he asks.

“Exactly,” Grantaire says, and then he starts to sing along in Enjolras’ ear. The hair on the back of Enjolras’ neck stands up as a shiver runs down his spine at the feeling of Grantaire’s breath, hot on his ear.

“ _Oh, my, my, oh, my stars,_ ”he sings.“ _Everything you see is ours, or it could be if you would try. I wish you would, I wish you might._ ”

Enjolras determinedly keeps his eyes fixed on Marius and Cosette as they whirl around the wooden dancefloor, clearly having practised for this but looking beautiful none-the-less. They’re so in love with each other, and Enjolras can see it in their eyes. Cosette is mouthing the lyrics as she dances, a heavenly smile on her face.

 _“Oh, oh, if everything you've said to me has been true, then all my stars are leading me to you_ ,” Grantaire sings softly.

Cosette turns to gesture other people onto the dancefloor to join them, and people grab their loved ones, their friends, and pull them onto the dancefloor, smiling happily.

+

As the music swells beautifully, Enjolras turns suddenly to face Grantaire. “Can I have this dance?” Enjolras asks, smiling down at him in a way that Grantaire can only describe as ‘hopeful’. It hurts a little, to see that expression on Enjolras’ face when he’s looking directly at Grantaire. Usually hope, for Enjolras, is reserved for when a meeting, a rally, a protest, or a petition is going well.

Grantaire blinks. Then he nods, and lets Enjolras lead him out onto the dancefloor, where couples sway to the romantic song playing.

They’re silent for a long while as they dance slowly, until Grantaire suddenly speaks. “You once told me that you dreamt about me, and that it was a little weird. Do you remember?” Grantaire asks, swaying slightly with his arms wrapped around Enjolras.

Enjolras huffs a laugh and looks away for a second. “I remember,” he says.

“Ready to tell me what it was about?”

Enjolras looks at him and smiles, warmly. “I dreamt… I dreamt that you loved me. Not in so many words. You were just… there. You made me feel warm and happy, and I just _knew_ that you loved me in my dream.” Grantaire stumbles, feet tripping as they continue to dance. Enjolras holds him up and smiles, saying, “Watch your step.”

Grantaire blinks at him. “Oh,” he says.

They’ve stopped dancing. Grantaire’s hands are still on Enjolras’ shoulders, Enjolras’ still on Grantaire’s waist.

“Sorry,” Enjolras says. “There is a reason I didn’t tell you before.”

“No,” Grantaire says, quickly. “It’s fine.” He smiles, brightly. “Maybe your dream’s not too far from reality.”

Enjolras looks at him in amazement for a second, but then he starts to smile too, and when they start dancing again it’s a lot more comfortable.

+

Enjolras’ dad dies late at night, in the hospital, and Enjolras didn’t get to say goodbye. After his mum hangs up from telling him the news, Enjolras sits in stunned silence on his bed for almost an hour. His skin feels numb, cold but numb. In the next room, Enjolras knows that Combeferre is still awake, and maybe he should go talk to him, tell him the news, find a distraction, but when he gets to his feet, he knows that it’s not Combeferre he’s going to.

Grantaire opens his door when Enjolras finally gets there, and he takes one look at Enjolras and holds his arms out for him to fall into. Grantaire holds him as he cries, gently coaxing him onto the sofa. “Did your dad…?” Grantaire asks, carefully.

Enjolras nods, letting out a choked sob. “I didn’t get to say goodbye,” Enjolras tells him. “I didn’t get to…”

“I know,” Grantaire says. “I know.” He holds Enjolras a little tighter, holding him against his chest. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he says.

Enjolras just nods, letting the warmth and solidity of Grantaire’s arms comfort him. He’s real. He’s alive. “Don’t leave me alone,” Enjolras says, mouth pressed against the fabric of Grantaire’s jumper.

“Stay over,” Grantaire suggests.

“Yeah,” Enjolras says. “Can we go to bed?”

“Of course,” Grantaire says, arms lifting slightly to help Enjolras get to his feet. “Would you like me to get you a drink?”

Enjolras shakes his head, wrapping his arms tightly around Grantaire and trying to tug him in the direction of the bedroom. “I just want to sleep.”

“Alright,” Grantaire says, softly, and lets himself get dragged off to bed, where he sleeps with Enjolras’ head on his chest, and his fingers running through Enjolras’ hair.

+

Enjolras wakes up alone. He sits up, sharply. He’s not sure where Grantaire might be, but given that this is his apartment, it can’t be far. Enjolras slips out of the bed, pulling on a shirt and padding through to the living room, feet bare on the soft carpet. “R?” he calls.

“Kitchen!” comes the cheerful reply.

Enjolras follows the voice through to the kitchen.

“I made your favourite,” Grantaire says, smiling at him from by the stove. In the pan, there’re two omelettes with ham and cheese. It smells delicious in the kitchen and Enjolras can feel his body relaxing.

“Oh,” he says. “Thank you. You didn’t have to.”

“I want you to be happy,” Grantaire says, like that makes any sense at all. Enjolras supposes it kind of does. He is feeling a lot happier today, here with Grantaire.

“I just needed you for that,” he tells Grantaire.

Grantaire looks at him for a long moment, but the words are no longer a shock or a revelation. It’s common place for these grand statements to be made between the two of them. They know how much the other cares. “Well, you have that,” Grantaire says, smiling.

“Promise?” Enjolras asks, moving over to the table and pulling out a chair to sit down.

Grantaire grins. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Enjolras laughs, softly, and reaches for the glasses on the table and a carton of apple juice. He pours a glass for both of them, and then takes a long drink from his own before topping it up.

Grantaire turns back to the omelettes, and Enjolras watches the muscles in his back shift underneath his shirt with casual interest.

After a moment he sighs. “I’m supposed to be picking up the new pamphlets from the LGBT society today.” He doesn’t want to move ever.

Grantaire glances over his shoulder, and then goes back to piling the omelettes onto two plates. “I’ll do it for you,” Grantaire says, sitting down and grabbing a knife and fork from the middle of the table.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that,” Enjolras says quickly.

“I don’t mind,” Grantaire assures him “I’ll pick them up after work.”

Enjolras melts. “Are you sure? It wouldn’t kill me to go.”

Grantaire smiles, fondly. “Enjolras, I’d be glad to help you out.”

Enjolras smiles, feeling unbearably grateful. “It’s days like these where I wish I had my own flat,” he confesses, picking up a knife and fork and cutting a portion of his omelette up.

“You can borrow mine,” Grantaire says, calmly.

“Your flat?” Enjolras asks.

“Sure, take mine,” Grantaire says. “I’ll be out at work for most of the day. It’ll give you some privacy.”

Enjolras’ lip trembles and he stares down at his plate of eggs. “Thank you, Grantaire,” he says.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says, quietly, “I would do anything to make this better.”

“I don’t understand why, sometimes,” Enjolras confesses, softly.

“Just because,” Grantaire replies. “Simply, because.”

+

Enjolras shows up at Grantaire’s shop just before closing, while Grantaire is steadily working through the close down jobs. Enjolras holds out his arms for Grantaire, needing to be held, and Grantaire does as he’s asked. Into Grantaire’s shoulder, Enjolras asks, “Would you truly do anything to make this better?”

“Of course, I would,” Grantaire says, pulling back to look him in the eyes. “Well, what do you want to do?”

“I need you to take me somewhere,” Enjolras says. “Far away. Just come away with me.”

Grantaire is silent for a moment. “For how long?” he asks.

“Not long,” Enjolras assures him. “Just a while… A long weekend only, if that’s all you can manage.”

Grantaire presses their foreheads together. “I’ll close the shop for a week,” he tells Enjolras.

Enjolras lets out a gasping sound and falls forwards into Grantaire’s arms in gratefulness. Once recovered, he says, “I bought you a ticket. The train leaves at nine.” Only four hours till they can be free.

Grantaire laughs. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go pack.”

+

On the train, they sit beside each other, hands clasped between them, Enjolras’ head resting on Grantaire’s shoulder. They are silent, listening to the rhythm of the train on the tracks and breathing in unison. Grantaire presses the gentlest of kisses to the top of Enjolras’ head, and Enjolras smiles. As they travel to Rennes, they don’t once let go of one another. Grantaire’s never been more in love.

They arrive all too soon, and Grantaire takes Enjolras’ hand to help guide him off the train, as Enjolras seems to be a bit dazed, here, so many miles from Paris. “Be careful,” Grantaire says quietly, just before they step down onto the platform, carefully minding the gap.  Enjolras just smiles at him, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

They get on a bus into the middle of town, searching for a hotel to stay in, and when they find one they check in and head straight up to their room. Enjolras sits on the bed and looks at Grantaire seriously. “Do you think I’m running away?” he asks.

Grantaire pauses, giving his answer some thought. He starts unzipping his bag to unpack. “Yes,” he says, slowly. “But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. You don’t plan on staying away forever. You just need some time.”

“I’m not being a coward?” Enjolras asks, sounding genuinely worried.

Grantaire smiles and comes to sit with him. “What’s wrong with being a coward?” he asks. Then he puts his hand on Enjolras’ knee. “You’re not a coward. No one who’s ever met you could think that. You’re one of the bravest men I’ve ever known. You’re going to work through this, Enj. I know that. You can do it.

“I believe in you.”

Enjolras blinks at him. “You do?”

“Of course I do!” Grantaire exclaims. “You can do anything, Enjolras.”

“Thank you, Grantaire,” Enjolras says, quietly.

“You’re welcome,” Grantaire replies. He pulls Enjolras in for a hug, and then pulls away to go back to unpacking both their things. Enjolras watches him for a few minutes, but then he gets up and crosses the room to Grantaire, standing behind him and wrapping his arms around his waist, holding him tightly. He doesn’t say anything, but Grantaire understands.

+

Enjolras goes down for breakfast before Grantaire does, leaving him in the shower and a note on the bed to tell him where he’s gone. When Grantaire walks into the dining room, Enjolras stands up to smile at him and beckon him over.

“I saved you a seat,” he says, pulling out the chair for Grantaire to sit down on. Grantaire sits, smiling at him. “So,” Enjolras says, “I’ve got some ideas of what I want to do today, but you can veto anything, obviously.”

Grantaire laughs. “I’m sure I won’t need to. What do you have in mind?”

Enjolras blushes a little and says, “There’s this art museum that I think you’ll really like.”

Grantaire grins. “That does sound nice, but are you sure you won’t get bored?”

“You’ll be with me,” Enjolras says, “I’ll be great.” To hide his embarrassment at saying that sentence he takes a large gulp of his coffee, but when he lowers the cup, Grantaire is still looking at him with a loving intensity. “Shut up,” he mumbles.

Grantaire chuckles. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it,” Enjolras says, cheeks red.

“Thinking what?” Grantaire asks, teasing.

“Something sappy,” Enjolras accuses him, but then he smiles at Grantaire, and Grantaire smiles back. Enjolras is so in love.

+

As they walk to the museum, Enjolras and Grantaire hold hands, and Enjolras seems filled with nervous energy. Halfway there, Enjolras blurts out, “I hope you like it.”

Grantaire gives him a kind smile and says, “I’m sure I will.”

Enjolras grins sheepishly and almost manages to calm down for the rest of the journey.

When they get there, Enjolras holds back slightly and says, “You can go first.”

Grantaire raises an eyebrow at him, but heads in. He keeps hold of Enjolras’ hand though, tugging him along, so there’s not that much difference in the times that they go into the museum.

Grantaire leads Enjolras through the exhibitions, reading out the little card on the wall beside each piece, and then telling him what he thinks of the piece. Whenever he has something bad to say, he tries to follow it up with something good too, but some pieces he finds it difficult to do so. After an hour, he notices that Enjolras is looking at him with something close to adoration on his face. Grantaire smiles to himself and keeps going.

They sit on a marble bench outside the museum to eat lunch that they bought in the little café. “Not bored yet?” Grantaire asks, only joking a little.

“No,” Enjolras says, happily. “We can stay here as long you want. Though we do have somewhere to be this evening.”

“Oh?” Grantaire asks, curiously. “And where might that be?”

“I made reservations,” Enjolras admits. “I wanted us to have a nice evening.”

“And I’m sure we will,” Grantaire says, agreeably. Enjolras looks beautiful, here outside the museum filled with art, the sun shining down on him, making him seem almost ethereal, and Grantaire wants to kiss him. Instead, he links their hands together.

They spend the afternoon exploring the rest of the museum, and finally, as the sun starts to set, they board a bus to head in the direction of their hotel to change before they eat. The bus is busy, filled with tourists and locals alike, and Grantaire sits down before he realises that he took the last seat and quickly jumps up. “Take my seat,” he says.  Enjolras tries to say no, but Grantaire insists, and when he sits down he looks relieved to take the weight off his feet.

The restaurant is beautiful, and so are all the patrons. Grantaire blushes a little when Enjolras pulls out a chair for him, unable to deny how the whole thing feels like a date. It doesn’t help that Enjolras orders the most expensive wine on the menu, either.

As always, when the meal arrives Grantaire looks at Enjolras’ and wishes he’d ordered that instead, even though his own is delicious too. Enjolras must notices his envious glances because he puts some on his fork and holds it out for Grantaire. “Try some.”

Grantaire laughs and opens his mouth to eat from Enjolras’ fork, and Enjolras holds his gaze for the entire movement. It makes Grantaire blush more than he’d like to admit.

When the waiter comes back to clear their table and ask if they’d like desert, Grantaire is torn. On one hand, the food here is so delicious that the puddings can’t be anything but. On the other hand, he did eat rather a lot during the main course.

Noticing his indecision, Enjolras says, “We can share.”

Grantaire grins. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

Later, after splitting the bill and finishing off their bottle of wine, they pull their coats on and head out onto the cold street. It’s late at night when Enjolras pulls him to a stop just outside the restaurant, where the lights still bathe them in orange. He looks at Grantaire and takes a step closer. In a whisper, he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

Grantaire stills, and then he breaks into a smile. Leaning in, he murmurs, “You didn’t have to ask,” and then he kisses him.

+

Six days later, they travel back to Paris, spending the entire journey wrapped up in each other’s arms, talking quietly about their short holiday. Their friends, who didn’t know where they had gone, were all pretty relieved to see them again, plying them with questions about what had happened until Combeferre had noticed how on edge they both were and made everyone back off.

Back at Enjolras’ flat, Combeferre asks him what really happened, and Enjolras smiles and says, “I just needed some time.”

The next day Grantaire calls, asking if he’d like to go for a walk at the park, and Enjolras replies, “I’ll meet you halfway.”

They spend the day walking first through the park and then through the city until they finally go to Grantaire’s flat for dinner. (On the way, while crossing a particularly busy road, Grantaire grins and says, “Look both ways.” Enjolras rolls his eyes and does as he’s told, overdramatically to prove a point.)

Enjolras sits on Grantaire’s sofa, a plate of pasta on his knee as they watch a movie. He moans around a mouthful of the delicious food and confesses, “I love your cooking, so much.”

Grantaire laughs. “I noticed,” he says. A little time passes as they finish their meals, but when they’re sipping on red wine, curled up together, Grantaire asks, “How are you doing?”

Enjolras nuzzles his head against Grantaire’s chin. “Better,” he admits. “I’ll get there.”

“I know you will,” Grantaire says. He takes hold of Enjolras chin, lifting his head so that he can kiss him gently.

Enjolras smiles into the kiss.

+

“Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

Enjolras freezes, in the middle of typing a sentence. He turns to look at Grantaire, but only gets so far as Grantaire squeals, “Don’t look!” Obediently, Enjolras closes his eyes, a little exasperated. “Hold out your hands,” Grantaire reminds him.

Holding out his hands, Enjolras says, “If this is a spider, I _will_ have a panic attack, no matter how much you think it’s a funny joke.”

“Hey,” Grantaire says, sounding serious. “I wouldn’t do that to you,” he says.

“You put a skeleton in Marius’ bed and a toy snake in Bossuet’s closet,” Enjolras replies, deadpan.

“That’s different, they don’t have actual _phobias_ of those things. Marius just had a slight jump and Bossuet just slightly panicked because he didn’t know how to safely remove a snake without hurting it. Neither of them were _actually_ scared, Enjolras. I wouldn’t _do that_.”

Grantaire sounds really serious about this, and Enjolras sighs. “I know, sorry.”

“This got off track,” Grantaire says. “So,” he then says, in a more cheery voice, “here we go.”

Into Enjolras’ outstretched hands, he places something rectangular and slightly weighty. “Can I look?” Enjolras asks.

“Of course,” Grantaire says, and, now with permission, Enjolras slowly opens his eyes. “Happy birthday,” Grantaire says, softly.

Enjolras’ eyes jump up to look at Grantaire, who looks a little nervous. “My birthday was a week ago.”

“Yes, I know. But, um, I was waiting for the right moment,” Grantaire explains.

Hesitantly, Enjolras opens the small jewellery box that’s sitting in his hands. He breathes in sharply.

“I made it for you,” Grantaire informs him, sounding a little anxious.

“You- You _made_ this? For _me_?” Enjolras asks, amazed.

“I- Um, yes?” Grantaire says, like a question.

A silver necklace sits in the box, metal twisting round and round, and a delicate, shining star dangles from it, perfectly. “Gran _taire_ ,” Enjolras breathes. He sets the box down on the table and with careful fingers, he pulls the necklace out. He then puts it back down and uses the bobble on his wrist to tie his hair up out of the way before picking up the necklace and fastening it around his neck. His fingers run along the metal as it settles against his skin, cold to the touch for the moment, and he fingers the star, gently.

His eyes find Grantaire.

“It looks good on you,” Grantaire says, his voice hardly more than a whisper.

“Thank you,” Enjolras replies, finding that he struggles to get the words out. “Grantaire, I can’t-”

“No, no, there’s something I need to say,” Grantaire interrupts. “Please, let me say this.”

“You can tell me anything,” Enjolras says, softly, unable to look away from Grantaire.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says, tenderly. He reaches out, putting one hand over Enjolras’ hand, which rests on the table by the empty jewellery box. “Enjolras,” he says, again, it seems he can’t say anything else, and he’s looking at Enjolras like the world is in front of him, a gentle smile on his lips.

Enjolras starts to smile then, too, knowing what’s coming.

When Grantaire opens his mouth, Enjolras says it too.

“I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. R’s bad day at work is based off a day I had at work not long before I wrote this.  
> 2\. R is very physically affectionate with his friends – there’s a part where he kisses Feuilly without asking for permission, but I just wanna say that they have a long history together and kisses between R and friends are common and he knows who it’s okay to kiss and who it isn’t.  
> 3\. Enjolras absolutely knew that it was Valentine’s Day.  
> 4\. Grantaire totally bought Bossuet another copy of THBP but boss still likes to tease r about it.  
> 5\. That ‘friends with potential’ line was stolen straight outta the 80’s classic, Say Anything.  
> 6\. As far as I can tell, there is no train from Paris to Rennes, however that is where I want them to go, so that is where they go. 
> 
>  
> 
> I hope you liked my fic! It took me forever to write but I loved writing it. :)
> 
> I have actually made a playlist which I have uploaded on tumblr ((i'm nerds-are-cool)) if anyone's interested in that. It's under the tag /op
> 
> I have a writing blog: theskyis-forever come say hi and leave a prompt :)
> 
> Also, if you enjoyed this: [buy me a coffee?](http://ko-fi.com/A831F9U)


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